


Encounters

by uzumagay



Series: mickey [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Mandy Milkovich (mentioned) - Freeform, Mickey-centric, POV Second Person, for season 1 at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-16 01:45:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7247173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uzumagay/pseuds/uzumagay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You love Mandy, if love is the anger and disgust that fills you when you see the way your father looks at her, if it’s the rage that fills you when she comes home crying that night over Ian Gallagher. </p>
<p>You couldn’t protect her that night, but you sure as fuck can beat the shit out of him for her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>(Or, Mickey's thoughts through S1)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Encounters

**Author's Note:**

> alrighty so this contains a lot of homosexual slurs but honestly it's nothing that hasn't been on shameless before so?? i added parts that weren't in the show and it may seem a little choppy and i'm Sorry

You don’t really understand what love is, if you’re honest with yourself.

You don’t believe in soulmates, or fate, or divine intervention from a God that never gave you a reason believe. It doesn’t make sense, the thought of a predetermined person that you’re destined to spend your life with.

Obviously, you understand familial love, if only up to a point. Your mother, as absent as she was and her inevitable death, was as loving as she could be when she wasn’t high or comatose on the couch, her hand lax on the needle and the rubber band still tied across her bicep. You love Mandy, if love is the anger and disgust that fills you when you see the way your father looks at her, if it’s the rage that fills you when she comes home crying that night over Ian Gallagher.

Mandy is your baby sister, the one you covered mom up for and took the needle out of her hand, to make it look like she was asleep so Mandy didn’t cry. The one that you would protect with your life, but couldn’t protect her from things bigger than yourself, like your father. You couldn’t protect her the night with Gallagher, but you sure as fuck can beat the shit out of him for her.

**

You’ve seen Ian Gallagher before. You know Lip - which is a good name for the fucker, mouthy as he is - and he never seemed like that horrible of a guy, other than the fact he’s a pretentious fuck. Ian is a scrawny boy, freckles covering his pale as fuck face, and works at the shit hole that is the Kash-n-Grab. You’ve never spoken to him, but he seems too fucking weak to do shit if you go after him, and that’s just what you do.

**

Ian Gallagher is harder to catch than you anticipated.

You know he’s being protected, whether it be from the faggot that runs the Kash-n-Grab or Lip, you don’t know. Either way, you’re going to find him and beat the fucking shit out him harder since he’s being such a goddamn issue. You’re in your room right now though, biting on the inside of your mouth as you clean a gun, thinking about this shit with him. Mandy calls out a half assed goodbye, and you make a comment about her skirt before she leaves, and you go back to what you’re doing.

You finish cleaning the gun and pick up another when you hear Mandy shout outside. You ignore it for a few moments, but get tense as she calls whoever she’s yelling at a fucking perv. You get up, going to the window and peeking out.

It’s Gallagher, standing right there next to Mandy. She says he’s fucking dead, and you tighten your hand on the gun and get ready to come outside when you hear him speak.

“I’m gay.”

Both you and Mandy pause. You see her stop, but you can’t see her face, and you have no idea the expression you’re making. You can’t believe he said that, having no idea people were listening. You can’t believe he _admitted_ it.

Part of you wants to beat the fuck out of him even more, watching as he walks more with Mandy. You want to fucking kill him, because he’s a disgusting fucking fag that likes to take (or give, but you don’t know, you don’t _want_ to know, but he’s too scrawny to give it you think, which makes it so much fucking worse) dick. He’s a fucking queer.

You sit back down though, going back to cleaning your gun. No one knows you heard, so you can pretend you didn’t hear it. You pretend your head isn’t full of what Gallagher probably likes to do, if he’s been fucked by someone (or has fucked someone, but again, you _don’t care_ and you _don’t want to know_ ), what he looks like under his clothes that never fit him right.

You’re not surprised when Mandy comes back and tells you to lay off him.

**

You lay of Gallagher, but that doesn’t mean you can’t piss off the pussy who owns the place.

He’s a fag too, and you can see it. You can’t help but wonder if him and Gallagher fuck, and it pisses you off how much this shit has been occupying your mind lately. You’ve thought about guys before, when you’re alone and high or drunk in your room, always having the excuse of the alcohol or good weed to fall back on. Now though, the thought of Ian’s fucking face when fucks or gets fucked comes to mind when you’re more sober than you ever like to be.

You wait until the woman leaves, because you know she’d probably shoot you in the fucking face (contrary to what a lot of people believe, you know how to pick your battles, fuck you very much), and you go in.

You take the shit you want, partly to fuck with him, partly because you have no goddamn money and you’re hungry. You leave, then go back in seeing Gallagher at the counter, and you pass by him again to say you forgot the dip. He follows you out, and says some shit about civic pride, or whatever the fuck it was he said while you watched his mouth move. You throw the dip at him, turning away and walking back home.

You go back later in the day when Gallagher isn’t there, taking the gun from Kash when he pulled it. Dear-Old-Fucking-Dad was due home tomorrow, and what better present is a new gun?

**

Dad comes home, and it’s only good because the coke was good this time, and you got high as fuck. For most of the party, you avoided your dad, because that fucker still pisses you off, but good coke and cheap beer were never a bad concoction for you.

You fall asleep late into the party, falling on top of your bed and passing out there. You have no fucking idea what time it is when something is shoved into your back, but you swear to god if it’s Colin or Iggy you’re gonna fucking kill them.

Right as you wake up and say something, you hear his voice.

“I want the gun back, Mickey.”

You’re confused. So fucking confused. How the fuck did this kid get in, and where did he get the fucking balls to do this? You know you can take him though. This kid’s maybe been in one fight, tops. You’ve beaten someone close to fucking death before.

You pretend to reach for the bedside drawer, and before he could see what you’re doing you hear his back hitting your wall.

Surprisingly, the kid puts up a hell of a fucking fight. You can hear your heart in your head, pounding and making your blood fucking _rush_ like the high you always chase.

Eventually you get him under you, straddling his chest and the crowbar ready to bash his stupid fucking head in. He’s panting under you, face scrunched up and ready to be hit, and your hand is stuck mid fucking air when he peeks up at you.

It pisses you off, how much this turns you on. He’s panting under you, and his face is right below your dick and it gets you harder than any girl had before, even seeing them on their knees and begging for dick.

(You wouldn’t mind seeing him beg, not at fucking _all,_ but that’s something you push back hard.)

You drop the crowbar, pulling off your wifebeater, this split second decision getting you harder still. Fuck, your dad’s right out there, on the couch, and Ian-fucking-Gallagher is helping you shove off your pants and breathing just as fucking fast as you are.

You hate that you love it. Who fucking knew this kid’s cock was as long as your forearm it seemed, or that he knew how to use it. He was scrawny, but all he had was muscle, and it showed in the way he shoved you down like a little bitch and dicked you down like you wouldn’t _believe._

You’ve had it like this before, but not like _this_. You’ve had drunk blowjobs in dark alleyways, quick, high fucks in the bathrooms of seedy fucking bars where you had to top. You get it has to be fast, be quiet, but without the mind-numbing effects of alcohol or coke or weed or whatever the fuck you decided to do that night, it’s a lot more than you fucking remember.

Being a faggot isn’t an option, but this isn’t being a fag, not to you. This isn’t falling in love to some fucking queen that has a dog with a goddamn sweater, this is a rough, fast, sweaty fuck in your bedroom, letting the pleasure of a cock in you take over for a few minutes. This isn’t what being a fag, a queer, a disgusting pole-smoker.

It’s sex, and that’s all the fuck it is, and that’s good. You’re not attracted to these people, you don’t think about them at night and write love poetry like a girl, you take a nine-inch-dick like a champ and that’s all there is to it.

 

It’s over quickly, but not too quickly.

He makes sure you cum (not like you used to bitch out for you, you’d finish and be gone before the guy could blink), and you’re reminded how much of a homo this kid is.

You’re sitting next to each other, your heart still pounding, your ass already starting to ache is the best fucking way you’ve felt in your life, when you hear it. You hear your father, steps getting closer with every second, and both of you scramble to cover. You do the best you can when he walks in, every muscle in your body ready for a fucking knife to the face.

He walks by, and you can’t even look at Gallagher. You’re both about to die, and you can’t imagine the look on his face right now, and honestly, you really don’t want to. He takes a piss and every sound makes you more tense, ready to fight.

He walks out, and god, you can’t even look at _him._ Your eyes are looking at the poster next to you, and you’re fucking shaking, you can feel it, but it’s not as bad because you can feel Ian shaking next to you too.

“Put some clothes on, you two look like a couple of fags,” he says, and you feel the way Gallagher relaxes next to you. Seeing him relax makes you relax too, and you take a second to lay your head down and calm your heart before you get up and shut the door.

Wordlessly, you get dressed, and Gallagher follows behind you. You’re finished quickly, and you grab the gun out of the bag you have at the foot of your bed. You had forgotten to give it to your dad, so what the fuck, right?

You throw it on the bed, and he looks at you. The bruise on his face is dark now, and you’re more focused on that until he moves closer.

Before you think, you turn away. “Kiss me and I’ll cut your fucking tongue out,” you say, and it’s the truth. His dick is one thing, but a kiss is something you don’t do with guys. Fuck, you don’t even kiss girls. You don’t want someone’s mouth on yours, their slimy fucking tongue against yours.

Ian leaves without saying goodbye, and you’re perfectly fine with it.

** 

The memory of getting fucked isn’t as good when the ache in your ass is gone, and it’s pissing you off.

You liked it more than you’ll ever admit to even yourself. You already bitched out for him once, but that doesn’t stop yourself from walking into the Kash-n-Grab, almost shaking your fucking head at yourself.

“You got any slim-jims in this shithole?” you ask, and you know he’ll get it. Part of that irritates you, knowing he’d know you needed dick again, but confidence builds up in you as he locks the door.

“Yep, in the back there,” he says, walking by you like the snide little fuck he is, but you like it. His confidence checks the fuck out, with the shit he can do with that dick of his. You follow him, pulling off your jacket and as he pulls off his shirt, wanting this to happen as quickly as possible.

He takes you into the freezer, which seems fucking stupid, but you don’t want anyone to see, so you go for it. The moment the door closes, he’s on you, pushing off your clothes and you do the same. It’s fucking cold in there, but you get warmer when he touches you, when he bends you over a little and starts fucking you like he did before.

When it’s over, you take a second to breathe, getting dressed quickly after though. He leads you out, and he opens the door for you like he’s a fucking gentleman or something.

“Well, I guess this was like a booty call, huh?”

“Whatever, see ya.”

** 

You think about his dick a lot.

The rest of him doesn’t really matter, because you know his dick. It’s a nice dick, with a decent body to it, but an annoying face and a mouth that never shut the fuck up. You hear him with Mandy sometimes, when they’re laughing in the living room or her bedroom, and you can’t help but think about how much of a fag he is.

(You ignore how faggy it is to listen to his laugh, happy that you hear it over Mandy’s ugly cackle, even though you don’t want to notice those things.)

You don’t think about other things, because you can’t. You only know him in the context of sex, you only know him when his dick is out and he’s bending you over. You know the way he breathes your name against your shoulder, how his hands tighten on your hips when he’s close, how he fucking _whimpers_ sometimes. That’s what you know about him.

You don’t know him like Mandy does. You know snippets, things you hear when passing Mandy’s bedroom or the things she talks about with you when you pretend not to listen.

It’s okay, because you don’t want to know more.

You don’t.

** 

He comes over so fucking much, and you don’t fuck every time. This time though, he got away from the leech that Mandy is to fuck you in your bedroom. It’s so good, but you have to be quiet like you always have to be. When it’s over, he goes back out there without a word, and you hear Mandy’s comment.

They’ve got food out there, and you hear Halo being played, and you sort of want to show off your skills to Gallagher.

You come out, pushing him over, feeling his heat on you. You take the controller, not touching his hands, because that’s too fucking much.

“Watch and learn.”

 

After the day you play with Mandy and Gallagher, you don’t isolate yourself when he comes over anymore. You sit with Mandy, much to her irrelevant disappointment. Sometimes you talk, sometimes you stay quiet and act like you’re listening.

You find out Gallagher isn’t a bad kid. He’s a smiley fucker, and he’s got stupid freckles all over his face. They’re not as clustered on the rest of his body, but his face is where it’s at. He’s got dumb ass floppy hair, and Jesus, does he ever get a haircut? It falls over his eyes, and he has to push it out of his face sometimes.

Also, does he wear anything but a t-shirt and flannel? Does he own anything else? He looks like god damn fifth grader.

You hear his laugh close now, sometimes because of you. It makes you feel disgusting, but not in a bad way.

** 

You shaved your fucking face.

You don’t know why. It’s not because of Ian, not because he’s got a baby face and you have scraggly hair that, according to Mandy, makes you look homeless when you don’t shave. You’ve never felt Ian’s face - not that you’d fucking want to - but you know it’d be smooth and you wonder how he felt about it.

You’re sitting on your couch, smoking the third cigarette in the last hour, when there’s a knock that doesn’t fucking stop at the door. You let it go for a sec, but when it starts again, you go over quickly.

“What the fuck?”

There Gallagher is, in front of you, looking like he’s crying.

“I need to see you.”

You get what he means. You don’t know why, why it would make him stop crying, why he’s crying in the first place, but you understand the implication.

_“Not_ a good time,” you tell him, and someone yells behind you, and you wish you were alone so Gallagher could come in.

“I-I-I don’t know where else to go,” he says, looking around like he’s lost, and he fucking looks it. He’s on the verge of tears, and god, you don’t want him to cry in front of you. You curse softly, shaking your head a bit, angry that this is getting under your skin.

You rub your mouth. “I thought you were working today?” you ask, like you didn’t plan to come the fuck over there later. You can’t look at him as you say it.

When he answers, you look back up, eyes tracing his face. “Uh, L-Linda’s gonna have my ass. I-I’m supposed to be there now.”

You swallow, looking away, knowing you couldn’t fucking ignore this, as much as you want to. “I’ll meet you there in twenty.”

 

He barely speaks when you get there, locking the door behind you and going quickly to the freezer. He’s insistent, almost rough in taking off your clothes, but you don’t mind it. He presses you against some metal shelves and bends you over a bit, and you grip on the bars as he thrusts into you. It’s harder than normal, and fuck, why haven’t you guys fucked before when he’s upset?

It’s rough enough to shake everything on the shelves, rough enough that you almost don’t notice the way his hand covers yours, hard and desperate for contact. You let him hold onto you, eyes shut as soft sounds left your mouth. He’s making sounds too, against the back of your neck, and you really fucking like it.

You don’t hear it when the door opens, but you feel it when Ian stops, and your heart drops to the bottom of your stomach. Ian pulled away, and you pull your pants up as fast as you can, shoving Kash hard into the shelf. Your pants are still fucking falling, but you get the door open as fast as you can, needing to get out. You run, you don’t think, you just run until you don’t feel as sick to your stomach.

You fix your pants. You don’t spend a spare second thinking about Gallagher (except, you do, you spend so many seconds they turn into minutes turning into half-hours), and you go home. You’re not hard anymore, not even fucking close to turned on anymore.

All of this fucking shit because of Gallagher.

 

You go back. You fucking have to, because that pedophile of a store owner needs a little encouragement to keep his face shut.

You go in, and he’s standing right there. He doesn’t look back at you, and Gallagher is nowhere in sight, which you’re happy for.

Kash is taller than you, but then again, who the fuck isn’t? He doesn’t know shit about fighting, and he’s already scared of you, so you know you can take him if it came down to it.

“Fucking right you keep your mouth shut,” you say, grabbing a Snickers bar off the counter, watching as he walks by you. “You better _keep_ it shut.”

He walks behind the counter. “You hear me?”

Kash eyes the bar in your hand, his voice so calm it pisses you off a bit. “Put the candy back, Mickey.”

Just because he says that, you open it, intent on fucking with the guy. You take a bite, smiling and chewing loudly so he could hear it. Might as well get your fucking kicks in.

“Mm, that’s sweet,” you say, the shit eating grin on your face, because you both _know_. He knows about you, you know about him. He can’t take you in a fight, so that gives you the upper hand. He can’t move. “I like ‘em sweet.”

He looks away, and he knows what the fuck you mean. Ian is sweet, as much as you hate to fucking admit it, but he is. He’s got a baby face and dreams like a ten year old, from what you’ve heard from him talking to Mandy.

“But then, ah,” you’re so close to laughing, because he’s not even looking at you. “So do you, huh?”

You laugh, because this is too fun not to, you both turn away, and he tells you to put it back once again. You go to walk down the aisle, when the sound of a gun and something popping, stuff going everywhere. It’s so sudden you jump three feet off the goddamn ground, and you curse as you turn to look at him.

(Your heart is pounding, because despite what a lot of people fucking believe, you haven’t been shot that much. You’re usually doing the shooting, and you were dumb enough to leave a gun at home for this.)

He shoots again, this time closer to your fucking head and you feel like you’re going to die already. Ian’s voice cuts in, and you hope to god the kid can calm him down.

“Kash, what are you doing?” he asked, sounding as panicked as you as you say, “It’s a fucking Snickers bar!”

And then he points it at you and shoots, and you can’t help the way your voice cracks when you curse, because _fuck_ , that shit hurts. You fall to the floor, and you can’t stop cursing, because you’re panicked, and isn’t there an important artery in your thigh somewhere? You were told that once, and it’s running through your head so fast it makes your head hurt.

You can’t focus on Ian until he comes over to you, and this kid’s smart, he does school and shit, so maybe he knows. He wants you to look at him, but you have a _fucking bullet in your leg_.

Ian gets him to call an ambulance, but he doesn’t leave your side until they get there. He’s talking, he won’t shut the fuck up, and you don’t know why. He’s sitting beside you with one hand on your face and one on your leg as he tells you you’re going to be fine, that Kash is an asshole, that the ambulance is coming.

When it does get there, Ian is right next to you, and he looks fucking spooked as you get on a gurney. It’s honestly fucking humiliating, especially with Ian watching you, but he doesn’t look like he’d make fun of you.

**

Of course, right after they patch up your leg, they arrest you.

You knew it was coming, but they could’ve at least had the fucking decency to wait until you could walk so you didn’t have to limp around on crutches like a bitch.

It’s not that bad. You do some stupid shit, to make sure people don’t fuck with you, but that’s about it. Considering the fact your leg is still fucked, you need to make sure you don’t become someone’s bitch, whether it be for sex or for people trying to steal your fucking food.

Pretty quickly in, you realized you’re a little fucked when you have no money in your commissary. You can’t as your dad, because he would beat the shit out of you when you got out anyway, so there’s no need to add to that. Mandy has no money either, so you have to resort to stealing people’s cigarettes when you can.

You get money suddenly, and you know it’s from Ian, or it has something to do with him, and you want to shake your head. You don’t know what the fuck this kid thinks what they did was, but he seems like he’s trying to be a boyfriend instead of a fuckbuddy.

But, money is money.

 

You get a visit from Gallagher.

He looks a little weird behind the glass, too small to be there. His baby face makes you surprised he even got in.

You sit down, and you (begrudgingly) thank him for the money, because you know he did it. You can’t look at him though, you can’t keep your eyes on him for too long with everyone else sitting by you.

“Not me, Kash. I told him you might still press charges,” he says and smiles, and honestly, you’re a little impressed. You both know you won’t do shit, but he lied for you, and you like that. You thank him again.

“How long?” he asks, suddenly serious, and you shrug a little, because who the fuck knows? He’s speaking to you so softly, even with the serious voice, and fuck, it’s making you feel weird.

“I don’t know. Supposed to be a year, right?” you ask, like you don’t fucking know, and you look away from him. “Maybe a couple of months if I don’t do anything stupid.”

You don’t look at him, but you can hear the softness in his voice, feel the way he looked at you. “Like what?”

“Like stab that fat fuck who keeps trying to steal my Jell-O!” you yell, keeping your hand on the phone and looking down the hall, and he yells back, and Ian won’t be able to hear. You don’t give a shit.

You turn back to him, and he looks nervous, like he’s fucking scared. You stare at him as his mouth moves, stuttering over words.

“I-I miss you?” he says, the words coming out like a question, and his head is down a little like you might smack him through the glass. You stare at him, knowing you won’t say it back.

“Say that again and I’ll rip your tongue out of your head,” you say, and his face breaks into a fucking smile, and you fight it with your mouth. He’s so fucking stupid, such a fag, and he wouldn’t be able to survive in here. He’s like a goddamn puppy.

He’s still smiling big when he puts his fingertips on the glass, and you shake your head, telling him to take them off, and he just says a soft “oh” before doing as you say. It’s silent for a few moments, and he’s still smiling.

“Don’t you have better shit to do than be here?” you ask, because honestly, what the fuck is he doing here?

“It’s pretty uneventful without you home,” he says, and his face flushes, and you get it. You rub your face, not looking at him, because how gay is he? How gay are you for not hating it?

It’s silent again, and the guard calls for visits to be over. He says goodbye to you and you ignore it, and you go to your cell. You lay down, because you feel sick to your fucking stomach with thoughts of him. You’re fucking sick, and you hate it, because you fall asleep and dream about him.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm thinking about making this into a series going through up to probably season 5-ish so check that out if you liked this and follow me @ uzumagay.tumblr.com


End file.
